Gladstone
by Flabagash
Summary: In which there is an addition to 221b Baker Street. Slight John/Sherlock.


**Day one**

Sherlock successfully found the bad guys, he tracked down their hide out, recovered the stolen goods... That was beside the point. John Watson didn't listen to a word of Sherlock's evidence; just this once he didn't care how he solved the crime.

Because once they reached the derelict and quite frankly grim apartment which the gang used as their base, John's attention was focused purely on a small scratching echoing through the room.

As Sherlock informed Lestrade how he once again saved the Police force from their own stupidity, John made to do some investigating of his own. It didn't take long for him to locate the source of the noise, a small cupboard. And when he opened it, inside was a dog. No, it was a puppy, a bull pup.

And the second the ball of fur and fluff rolled onto the bare wood floor looking dazed and confused, John was smitten with him.

**Day Two**

It didn't take a trip to the vets to tell John the puppy was half starved. However, it was nice to know that other than that the small dog was relatively healthy and had no illness or injury that couldn't be cured by a bit of love and attention.

Once the puppy was given some injections, John felt ready to take him to the Dog's Home so he could find a nice new family.

On the way out of the vets, a large and much grizzlier rough collie took and interest in the small bulldog who instinctively cowered and hid behind John's leg.

John knew at that moment, there was no way the puppy was going to live anywhere but home with him.

**Day Four**

"That _thing_ is still here!" sulked Sherlock, in another one of his fits of boredom.

"Why yes. Yes, it appears he is. Really, nothing does get past you, does it Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed "And how long is he going to be living here?"

"Um... indefinitely?" tried John.

"I thought I told you at the crime scene, I don't want a dog."

"I let you keep the skull."

**Day Seven**

"If you're going to let that thing live here, at least give it a name."

"He already has a name, if you bothered to speak to him, you'd know that." Muttered John. "Wouldn't he Gladstone? Yes he would, yes, he would!" Cooed John, knowing full well that the baby speak irritated Sherlock, as he placed one of his old jumpers in Gladstone's bed. The dog, having a traumatic time at the hands of the criminals, found some comfort in John's scent. Plus, his jumpers were very snuggly.

**Day fifteen**

Dog food, poo-bags, a lead and dog bed – after two weeks, John had finally collected all the things Gladstone needed and you could tell that there was a Dog in the apartment by the numerous assortment of brightly coloured squeaky toys. Mrs. Hudson provided a fair few of them.

**Day twenty two**

_Your assistance is needed at Trafalgar Square. SH_

_Please, John. It's urgent! SH_

_I don't care if you're walking that runt. Get here now! SH_

**Day thirty nine**

John was on a date. With Sarah. Sherlock was left alone. No, not alone. That... that dog was there. Whining and moaning. What did he want!  
Oh, he's hungry. Sherlock moved to the kitchen and reached for the dog food. However, before he got the can opener he had an idea. He moved towards the fridge and as soon as the door was opened, the small dog bound towards Sherlock knowing it was teatime.

Sherlock conjured up a small meal for himself and rather enjoyed passing Gladstone the odd bits from his plate. Interesting, the dog prefers sausage to bacon and dislikes egg entirely, he noted. Soon, he was tossing treats to the puppy and before long he throwing his toys and squeaking them, much to Gladstone's (and indeed his own) amusement.

Before he knew it, the evening had passed and John would be returning soon. Sherlock put his plate in the kitchen and left the puppy in the lounge; he would need taking outside soon. John could do it. After all, it was John's Dog.

**Day forty four**

49 hours. John had lasted over two whole days wide awake and following Sherlock across London on his latest case.

However, Sherlock could see his companion was waning and knowing all he had left to do was reveal the perpetrator to the Police, he told John to head back to the flat and he'd see him there in a couple hours.

True to his word, in two hours time Sherlock returned to the flat expecting to find John asleep in his room. It was evident that John tried to stay up and wait. However, he failed and he was fast asleep and fully dressed on their sofa. Gladstone was also asleep, curled up on John's belly, moving up and down gently as the sleeping man breathed.

John's hand lay protectively around the young dog and both of them looked very content.

Sherlock allowed himself to smile for a moment before composing himself and returning to his room.

**Day fifty**

Gladstone had been John's for 50 days when he started to become poorly. John, who loved the dog entirely, noticed straight away when he began breathing healthily and his movements became laboured.

Knowing Sherlock, John decided he must have noticed too; the man noticed everything! Clutching his poor, sick dog in his lap, he thought sadly, Sherlock probably noticed and didn't really care.

**Day fifty one**

John called in sick from work and wouldn't talk to anyone. Gladstone stopped eating and he was doing all he could to encourage his dog to take a bite of food.

He had an appointment at the vets that evening, they were baffled. They told John to let the puppy rest; young dogs often find themselves ill and right themselves soon after. That didn't give john hope. He tried playing the Doctor and diagnosing Gladstone himself, but nothing came to mine. The dog was lethargic and not eating.

Ruefully, John went to bed that night leaving Gladstone asleep in a new jumper, one that smelt more of John.

What he didn't know, was in the middle of the night, Sherlock woke up and made sausages, the sausages he knew Gladstone liked. And he was disheartened when the puppy refused to eat them.

**Day fifty two**

It was a Saturday so John didn't work. Unfortunately, the criminal classes don't take the week-ends off and Sherlock was called away. He didn't even ask John to accompany him.

Gladstone wouldn't get up from his bed, his toys were all scattered nearby him but he didn't seem to care or even notice.

**Day fifty three**

"For heaven's sake, John! You not eating isn't going to make the dog any better..." scolded Sherlock. "Go, shower, sleep, eat, just do something. I'll sit here with Gladstone."

And he did. And he sat right next to the dog bed, where John was moments before. He stroked the small dog (getting smaller by the day, he noted) And he murmured small, comforting words. When he heard John return an hour or so later, he was already back on the sofa, staring at the wall.

Sherlock Holmes didn't make attachments. Especially not to animals. Not when it left you vulnerable and afraid and helpless.

Well, Sherlock Holmes _tried_ not to make attachments. He looked at John and Gladstone and he sighed.

**Day fifty Four**

Gladstone had been John's for 7 weeks when he died. No-body knew the cause of death.

**Day sixty**

It was almost a week later when John finally felt ready to clear up Gladstone's things. The last week had been... emotional. He'd cried a lot, he wasn't ashamed to admit it. Although, not to Sherlock. No, he couldn't believe how emotional Sherlock Holmes was. He didn't even offer condolences. But in his room at night, John broke down and cried. Then, after 6 days, he got a bin bag and filled it with tins of food, a lead, a tennis ball, a rope pull toy, a squeaky bone... where was Gladstone's cuddly teddy, the one Mrs. Hudson brought him?

Sure it would turn up sooner or later, he took the dog things to the animal charity shop, knowing some other puppy would use them.

**Day sixty six**

Yawning, John opened the door to his flat after a long day at work. Sherlock was sleeping out on the sofa, nothing unusual there.

He was often found sprawled across the settee several days after a case when he just seemed to stop and need to recharge.

What was unusual though, was Sherlock wasn't a haphazard mesh of limps, he was in a tight ball, his back to the sofa, and clutching something tightly to his chest.

John knew he should leave the sleeping man, but he needed to know what Sherlock seemed to love so dearly.

Craning over him, John saw the unmistakable blue fuzz that was Gladstone's squeaky bear.

And John couldn't help but let himself smile.

Sherlock began to stir, not the heavy sleeper, and as soon as he raised his head, John saw it was tear stained.

"john-?" He asked, still half asleep and beginning to sit up.

John sat down next to Sherlock, a lot closer than he normally would have, so that their bodies were pressed close together and their heads touched.

"It's ok. It's okay to miss him." John mumbled, reaching out a hand.

Sherlock sniffed, and gave a curt not. He thought John was moving to grab the teddy, but instead he found his hand covered with John's. And he found the feeling to be far more comforting than he'd care to admit.

It was too late, Sherlock realised. He was attached. And this time, he'd make the most of it before it was too late.


End file.
